


Pursuit of Happiness

by naboru



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Combaticons still have to get used to Blast Off, and vice versa. Vortex makes an effort.</p>
<p>G1!Blast Off/SG!Vortex, (mentions of Brawl, Swindle and Onslaught)<br/>smut (of the plug’n’play variety), PWP, h/c (sort of)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pursuit of Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Pursuit of Happiness  
>  **Warnings:** smut (of the plug’n’play variety), PWP, h/c (sort of)  
>  **Continuity:** Shattered Glass (Disillusion AU)  
>  **Characters/Pairing:** G1!Blast Off/SG!Vortex, (mentions of Brawl, Swindle and Onslaught)  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, nothing is mine.  
>  **Summary:** The Combaticons still have to get used to Blast Off, and vice versa. Vortex makes an effort.  
>  **Beta:** :D
> 
> **Note:** This is part of the Shattered Glass Disillusion AU, focusing on the Combaticons and Protectobots. G1!Blast Off got caught in it, very similar to Cliffjumper, only that he is bound to the SG equivalent of his gestalt team. More background of this is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/531359/chapters/942502).

Blast Off sat on a stool in the small common room, his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, while he lazily stared at the nearly empty cube of high grade. It was his fifth, or sixth. Blast Off didn’t know, he’d lost count.

Brawl had already left. The quiet tank had gone without a word, but it didn’t make any difference, because he hadn’t said anything at all.

Slowly, subtly Blast Off shook his head. It was still weird. Everything in this new world was weird. Even the fact that he, Blast Off, thought this, because he should be used to weird worlds. He’d seen enough in the past. But all of them had been new, nothing that he knew just being _different_.

Blast Off didn’t like change.

Onslaught hadn’t been there as they tried to cheer him up with a ‘party’. The fact that they had wanted to cheer him up was strange enough.

Blast Off sighed.

The commander was looking for Swindle. He couldn’t think of “his” commander, everything was still too foreign. Swindle had disappeared a few cycles ago, apparently something that he did every so often, and it was the only thing which was familiar to Blast Off.

He looked up at Vortex who sat opposite him. The rotary smiled. It wasn’t the usually mischievous, gleeful, selfish grin, it was a friendly and sincere smile.

Shutting down his optics Blast Off rubbed his forehead. This world was odd, and tiresome. And he didn’t fit in there.

“You look exhausted,” Vortex said in genuine concern.

He refused to online his optical sensors, and huffed sarcastically. “Oh, sorry for not dancing around happily, but being thrown in another universe and frame and my programs being adjusted isn’t that good for restful recharge.”

A sound metal scratching against metal echoed through the room and Blast Off hoped the ‘copter would leave him alone. Vortex had been clinging to him since the day Blast Off arrived there, and this, the shuttle thought grumpily, was something also very similar to his own dimension.

Blast Off gave up his hope of getting some peaceful solitude when the steps came closer. Seemingly, no one allowed him to just fall in recharge in the common room without annoying him further. As if the oh-so-wonderful ‘party’ hadn’t been enough of a torture. 

He huffed again, wordlessly and still with a slight faith in the possibility that, unlike the Vortex he knew, this one would get the hint and just go away.

But apparently persistence was something which both versions of this mech had in common.

A hand touched Blast Off’s back, and he tensed.

“I’m sorry,” Vortex spoke anew, again with this genuine voice, but Blast Off didn’t know if he meant the touch, or something else. Before he could ask, the other mech continued.

“I don’t like seeing you like this. So… exhausted.”

The second hand joined the first one, but they didn’t move, and Blast Off frowned.

Offline optics still stared at the nearly empty cube of high grade and Blast Off pondered on just turning around and snapping at the other mech.

He didn’t.

It might have been the high grade. Or it might have been the warm feeling of these foreign hands and the proximity of this foreign energy field. It was so very familiar, but at the same time it was not.

Blast Off huffed again to express displeasure he didn’t feel.

The hands didn’t leave, but began moving, slowly, cautiously, tracing over transformation seams at his back, between the gaps of heat resistance tiles, over them. It caused an odd mixture of numb sensation and pleasurable tickling.

Blast Off relaxed and sighed.

He didn’t know why he didn’t turn around, or why he didn’t leave. Perhaps it was the way Vortex touched him, so knowingly, as though he knew exactly where to stroke, what to do to make it feel good. As though he knew Blast Off’s altered frame better than he knew it himself. It also might have been the electricity which suddenly came with the touches, which seeped into his plating every time the fingers met Blast Off’s armour.

He sighed again, and shuddered. The pace of his fans increased against his will, and his optics snapped online when Vortex stepped closer. The chest met the heat shield, and Blast Off only partially felt the warmth of the other mech in the areas of his back which weren’t covered with tiles.

It was new, and his optics dimmed.

“I wanna make you feel good.” It was a murmur near his audio, spoken so honestly, and so foreign to Blast Off. He shivered once more, and his grip around the cube became tighter.

He should have left the room.

Vortex leant into him; the warmth grew in the places he felt it, and the touches were still there, still so slow, tender and altruistic.

Lip plates brushed over his audio sensor oh so faintly, and Blast Off had to suppress a sigh.

“Please let me…”

A hand found its way over his upper arm, stroking further down and the leading edge of his heat shield.

Blast Off turned his head, looking at Vortex. The face so close, he could see the even dimmed optics through the glass of the visor. Vortex bit his lower lip in a coy, almost uncertain manner, which was so very different than the mech he knew.

The other’s energy field washed over Blast Off, igniting his sensor net with pleasure. He couldn’t bite back a groan any more as he quivered.

Blast Off flared back.

\---

His processor dazed by high grade, Blast Off couldn’t say if he pushed Vortex onto the berth or if the other mech pulled him down. It was more by habit that the shuttle pinned Vortex’ wrists above his head and he looked at the mech beneath as though seeing him for the very first time.

Vortex panted, emitting hot gusts of air while he sighed and moaned quietly. His field throbbed, extended with needy pulses, but not far enough to reach Blast Off’s chassis. It met only the shuttle’s energy field, which flared, equally intense.

The Cybertronian frame looked good on Vortex, and due to the white colour every seam and every detail was still visible despite the dark room. He shifted slightly, writhing, rotors pressed onto the berth.

Blast Off liked what his optics were seeing, and the hardware behind his interface panel heated. He felt the charge growing, and he wanted to touch; to feel something he knew, something which hadn’t changed. 

He wanted to touch those rotors, but before he could do anything, something overcame him. His systems were poisoned with high grade, his gestalt program and frame had been altered to match the replacement team better, and it caused the gestalt bond to open without his conscious instruction. It was odd, like a foreign command that activated when he saw Vortex writhing on the berth, and he was too overwhelmed to stop it.

It was fascinating that the program seemed even more intense within this universe, bound to mechs who were so different. When his side of the bond was unshielded, he couldn’t say what he had expected, but it’d have been nothing he felt now.

Where Blast Off had anticipated lust, desire and need - all the things he sensed when he’d interfaced with his Vortex through the hardline connection - there was now emotions. Something entirely new to Blast Off, something entirely unlike to everything familiar. It reached him as an unreal touch mingled with arousal, pleasure and a silent plea.

Blast Off revved his engine. He tried to close the bond, but the command got lost in the incoherency of data caused by the new input.

White rotor blades gleamed in contrast to the darkness of the berth when even darker hands traced over them, feeling the heated metal beneath the fingers and triggered an impatience which seeped through the bond.

“’m sorry,” Vortex mumbled under static, and Blast Off didn’t know why, until another burst of keenness and the need for more hit him at the same moment the other flared his field. He couldn’t say anything, just moan, before Vortex apologised again.

“’m so sorry,” Vents worked heavily, “’s just… you’re so hot.” Vortex arched his back, bending his leg and scuffing his heel over the berth. Blast Off felt another pulse of this energy field which was an oxymoron of such familiar difference.

“You’ve no idea how much I want you.”

Blast Off shuddered at the words, this reaction and he actually _knew_. He felt it through the bond. It was not just the need for pleasure, and more of it, it was the need for _him_. For more touches, more closeness, intimacy, for more Blast Off.

He had to suppress a moan.

Vortex fell silent, but another apology was transmitted via the gestalt code. An apology for being so selfish, but that he please didn’t stop. Blast Off could almost hear the words, which spread in his processor and the gestalt program translated them into a realisation that all this was still just for him. _Only_ for him, and he drunk in this self-sacrificed dignity of emotions he was incapable of returning.

It didn’t matter. Not to him, and seemingly not to Vortex, either, as his hand traced over the edge of the rotor blade down to the side of the white frame, stroking transformation seams and the delicate circuitry beneath.

Vortex bit his lower lip, arching into the touch, his optics flickering. There was a low whimper, followed by a louder moan and another apology when he squirmed under Blast Off.

The knee scratched at the side of his thigh, and usually Blast Off would hate it, but he didn’t - not right now. At every point their bodies touched a little current was sent straight under his plating. It wasn’t touching, it was pleasure.

The tact of Blast Off’s engine increased further and his cooling fans kicked in. His field now pulsed harder, wider over the mech beneath and there was a staticky sigh from the other every time their fields touched.

Incoherent words mingled with needy sounds when Blast Off explored the white frame. Finding a smaller panel at the side, he stroked its rims and looked questioning at Vortex.

The other groaned at the touch, and for a brief moment, it was as though Vortex tried to free his hands. Blast Off increased the pressure of his grip, and shook his head.

Vortex just nodded in agreement, or as encouragement at the touch, Blast Off couldn’t tell. But not an astrosecond later, the metal beneath his finger slid aside with a hissing sound.

Blast Off shivered, and didn’t dare look.

_Oh Primus, please let them be compatible_ , he thought and sent a little prayer to a god who didn’t exist in this universe. His interface hardware was buzzing almost painfully and there wasn’t enough sky to fly off the charge which circulated in his body.

His optics still at the other’s face, he traced with his fingers over the revealed components; it felt familiar.

Vortex panted frantically, arching his back that it looked nearly painful. He apologised once more; for being so charged, for being so needy and avid.

Blast Off didn’t answer and didn’t let go, because he wanted Vortex like this. He stroked the edges of the port, then dug a finger into it and extended his energy field.

“Tell me what you want,” Blast Off said, his voice static-laden.

There wasn’t an answer, not straight away. The other writhed beneath him, and flared his field back, so powerful that Blast Off’s HUD flickered and he pressed his lips together to hinder a groan from escaping his vocaliser.

When the reply came, it was nearly unintelligible under the static.

“…ou…” The click as Vortex reset his vocaliser followed another try. “Want you…”

Another field flare, which made Blast Off’s arms feel weak.

“Wanna make you feel good… just for you… just _you_ …”

And these words alone caused the charge to spike and Blast Off’s core temperature to increase. His cooling fans switched to a higher level, and their noise drowned the sound when his own interface panel opened.

He could have teased Vortex more; could have explored the port and the connector longer, squeezing the metal playfully and flaring his energy field in a way that’d drive Vortex mad. But Vortex already _was_ , and Blast Off was too impatient to wait any longer.

He reached for his own cable, and sighed at the touch. There was still the brief concern that the parts were incompatible when Blast Off’s connector slowly slid into the other’s port. This uncertainty vanished the instant Blast Off’s cable snapped in with a faint click and Vortex optics blazed while his body went rigid for a moment.

The copter’s vents’ pace changed to deep, slow intakes accompanied with quiet needy whimpers. He kept silent, but over the bond there was another plea.

Blast Off took the other’s connector with trembling hands, hardly suppressing the urge of his body to slam bursts of energy and data into the smaller one. He wanted to wait with that, he wanted to feel the recoil not just through the gestalt bond he couldn’t close; he wanted a full feedback loop.

The instant Blast Off plugged in, the foreign energy flooded his circuits, and their engines revved in unison. The hard vibrations mixed with the softer ones of his cooling fans and Blast Off had to brace himself, putting his hand next to the ‘copters helm.

Submitting to his body’s needs, Blast Off answered with his own strong pulses.

It made Vortex scream. Squirming, his back lifted off the berth, and he bent his other leg.

Over the bond, between the pleasure, bliss and the plea for more, Blast Off felt Vortex trying, wanting to regain some composure. Blast Off didn’t let him. Energy pulsed in union with his field, powerful, demanding and greedy. He leaned down, his mouth on the other’s audio, panting, smirking; his optics alternately blazed and dimmed.

“I want to make you feel good.” Blast Off wasn’t honest, because he knew every part of this was just for him, but he didn’t let it seep through the bond. Still, these words earned himself a groan.

His hand reached again for those rotors, fingers scratched over them, no longer gentle, but with the same result.

Vortex' vocaliser glitched, and Blast Off moaned when the backlash reached him. He felt the reaction over the interface, absorbing bursts of energy and data, which made the emotions so much more real that he almost felt them himself.

“Blast Off…” Vortex mumbled his name under static, “Blast Off…” repeating it like a mantra next to his audio sensor where hot air stroked the metal.

Legs wrapped around his waist, pulling the body further up for more contact, and Blast Off’s equilibrium malfunctioned. Where the metal touched, there was this electricity again, sent straight into his circuits without the diversion of the interface.

He nearly lost it then.

Gritting his denta, Blast Off stopped the energy flow for a moment. This was just too good, he didn’t want it to end now. The hand on the rotor blade went idle, and he held on the field flares.

Vortex writhed, his knee rubbed against Blast Off’s side, and he murmured, “Wanna touch you… _please_ ”

Hearing these words, Blast Off shuddered at the promise which came with them, and which was so clear through the open gestalt bond. The promise for more touch, for more pleasure, the promise for more sensations wherever their plating met.

“…please… wanna touch you…” With Vortex’ voice so needy, Blast Off let go of his wrists.

Instantly, two arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down. Their chests ground together, and the energy flow started once more, equally as intense as before when he almost crushed the mech beneath. Their field flares became one, a throbbing mass of electrified air which shocked his sensor net with delight.

And Blast Off found himself in a sea of bliss and pleasure and his name was whispered beneath staticky, needy whimpers. It mingled with the emotions; so foreign and wonderful as they told him that this actually meant something to the other, that he meant something to him; and he tasted as much as possible from these delicious, vulnerable knowledge.

Strong shudders rocked over Blast Off’s frame when the first warning appeared in his HUD. He didn’t hear himself moan loudly, didn’t hear the staticky noises which left his vocaliser. He didn’t feel his grip tightened around the rotor blade, denting, twisting the thin metal.

He just heard the hissing in his audios, nearly drowning the still spoken mantra of his name. He just felt the pleasure running back and forth over his sensor net and circuitry.

Blast Off couldn’t hold it off any longer when Vortex’ fingers dug into a transformation seam on his back, squeezing the cables there and transmitting electricity into the sensitive areas under his heat shield.

It was this warm touch which sent him over.

The heat grew, and it felt like re-entry, only so much better. The equilibrium completely gave in, and Blast Off slumped down, shivering and moaning. He grabbed for Vortex frame, for purchase and just to touch and get as much as possible from this. It was so familiar and still foreign as Vortex’ emotions rushed into him and made everything even better.

The brutal bliss of overload left much too soon, and only the slight shivers and heat remained while post-overload tickling flashed over his sensor net.

Beneath Blast Off, Vortex’s fans worked loudly, trying to cool the frame. Still clinging onto him, Vortex didn’t let go, and Blast Off found himself not caring about it.

He was too tightly embraced in the post-pleasure drunkenness and pre-recharge. He ignored the proximity, only enjoying the still transmitted electricity, and he missed the barely intelligible mumbling near his audio.

Blast Off was sure he didn’t want to know.

\---

When Vortex woke up the next morning, he reached next to him with offline optics, and found himself grabbing at nothing.

Onlining his optical sensors, he sat up, his limbs weak, and tingling and one of his rotors bent. The blades of his tail rotor spun slowly at the memory, and he grinned behind his battle mask.

The grin soon vanished .

Lying down again, Vortex sighed, disappointed and only partly sad, even if he’d never admit it.

He stared at the ceiling, silently, thinking. There was no point in waiting. The other’s gestalt bond was closed again.

Today Blast Off wouldn’t come back.


End file.
